you were careful to take tiny things only,the things you thought no one would miss:a half-pencil from the DMV,a stack of labels from the post office (which you did not need),gum from your sister's purse andexactly three orange Tic-Tacs, too,gallons of ketchup and soy saucein plastic packets that you will never use,your girlfriend's confidence when she was not paying attention,another man's dignity because he thought he did not care,and then there was the rhyme you thought no one would ever hear.

When was the last time you sat down to write?he asked andif we were being totally honestI guess it had been a while soI stretched my fingers wide andthey itched at the thought ofthe glossy ink against the precious empty white of the paper,the way scribbled imagery could clothe a naked page and​how well I would sleep that night ​after uncurling my anxious fingers and toes –I don’t get much sleep these days, I replied.

I get so sad andI think it'd be easiernot to be here andthen I rememberall the moments likedeep belly laughs andpancakes for dinner andconfetti on my toes andI hang on becauseI never want to leave here.